


they all cheat at cards

by Trojie



Series: Inception Bingo 2016 [7]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kink Discovery, M/M, Shower Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If dreamcrime is a game of entrapment, Arthur's strategy has always been the buffalo jump. But Eames's is the La Brea tar pits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they all cheat at cards

**Author's Note:**

> For Inception Bingo, prompt "golden showers"
> 
> Follows on from [knife to a gunfight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7375369)

'How would you feel if I said I wanted to piss on you?' Arthur asks Eames over a really quite pleasant dinner, one evening in Reykjavik. 

Eames, who isn't even on this job, who came here because Arthur asked, who is technically on holiday and living out of a hotel room he didn't pay for and feeling incongruously and unsettlingly like a kept boy these last few days, puts down his fork and says, 'I'd say we should probably talk about that in private.'

Arthur flashes a grin at him and drops it.

***

How Eames feels about it is … well. 

Eames spends most of his time, on the surface of it, doing what other people want and expect of him. To an almost unhealthy amount. He literally becomes other people. For his day job. Except then he uses what other people want and expect to fleece them of the things that they treasure and hoard. 

That makes him someone it's generally unwise to entrust your desires to. 

Arthur only asked like it was an offhanded whim, though. And he doesn't bring it up again.

There are plenty of opportunities. Corporate jobs mean decent hours, nights off, and the opportunity for REM sleep without too much worry of midnight bailouts or sudden retribution. Arthur comes home from his days on the job and looks at Eames with dark, guarded expressions, and asks him for all sorts of things, vanilla and depraved and everything in between, but none of them involving piss. 

He lets Eames twist on it, and twist Eames does. Until he's on his knees, with the endless darkness and tiny lights of Reykjavik spread out behind him through the hotel windows, and Arthur starry-eyed and hard in front of him, and he asks _why_. 

'Honestly? Because I want to know if you'd let me,' says Arthur, thumbing Eames's mouth open and pushing his cock inside. 

Of course Eames would let him. The power in letting people do things is obscene and unfathomable and addicting. Eames has ensnared more people than he cares to remember that way, letting them and letting them and _letting them_ until they've dug as deep as the rabbit hole goes, until they realise that the purpose of the third wish is to undo the damage the first two wishes caused. 

If dreamcrime is a game of entrapment, Arthur's strategy has always been the buffalo jump. But Eames's is the La Brea tar pits. 

'That isn't a good idea,' says Eames, roughly, when Arthur has come down his throat.

'If you don't want to do it, we won't,' says Arthur, and beckons Eames up onto his lap to jerk him off all over the pair of them. 

***

A week later and Arthur has fucked Eames in a hundred beautiful ways and Eames _still can't stop thinking about it_ , and that's when he realises. He's on the edge of a cliff. 

He slips into the shower at 5am when Arthur is in there, getting ready for work (corporate jobs start early), and says 'do it,' in a voice that still grates with sleep. 

Arthur pushes him to his knees, and does. Eames shudders. His cock, limp against his thigh, starts to harden under the stream of Arthur's piss. In the hot water, the steam rises, carrying the smell of it. The dark early-morning colour of it as it runs down Eames's throat, his chest, pools swirling on the floor of the shower, is what catches Eames's attention, though - a brittle yellow, like cracked varnish, sloughing off his skin, leaving behind something electric and disgusting and raw.

His heart is pounding, a brutal, sexual tempo even though he's not being touched, he's not even touching himself. Arthur catches a hand at the back of Eames's skull, and forces him to look up as he starts to run dry. Eames almost doubles over in overheated shock at the contact.

'You didn't know,' Arthur says.

Eames wants to put his mouth on Arthur's half-hard, dripping cock. His own is twitching and untouched, ready to come, ready, so fucking ready - and then Arthur moves, shoves Eames down a little more, and the last of his piss spills onto Eames's mouth. 

Eames's body feels like it's turning itself inside out when he comes, his brain as well. He shakes to pieces with shower water streaming down around him, curled up around Arthur's feet like a supplicant at an altar, until Arthur hauls him back to his knees again by his hair

'You spend all your fucking life working out what other people want,' he says, and he's growling but his eyes are fond, warm when they meet Eames's. 'And you didn't know this.'

Eames bites his lip and refuses to let himself whine, spent but still hungry, still wanting something even though he's all but wrung out. He can't stop his gaze from dropping again. Arthur's hard now, fully, red and straining in his hand where he's stroking himself, so close. 

'Please,' Eames says, and closes his eyes.


End file.
